I Just Want You
by loveatsecondsight
Summary: "What do you want, Santana?" I knew that I had to put myself on the line. I had to do it one last time, because this is my only chance. I need to get this all out so she can understand where I'm coming from. Why I've been so afraid. I've pushed and hurt her so much; she needs to know what I mean and why when I say, "I just want you."
1. Chapter 1

I thought I knew pain when Coach Sylvester made the Cheerios run suicides for hours on end that one blistering day during Sue's Stay Fit Summer Session. I'd gladly trade a lifetime of that to stop the anguish I'm feeling now, because even though I was dehydrated, lightheaded and passed the point of physical exhaustion, I never thought I'd die from the pain. It was purely physical. The ache from my lead limbs was temporary; the burning in my lungs fixed within minutes of greedy pants. That pain passed. That pain couldn't have prepared me for the pain I feel now.

Memories flood my senses as I approach the Pierce residence. All the colorful birthdays filled with laughter and camera flashes, secret sleepovers held under sheet and pillow forts, spontaneous movie nights with the aroma of buttered popcorn wafting my senses, and lazy afternoon memories assault me. I can't breathe; it's like I'm back at Sue's Stay Fit Summer Session all over again. Except this time, pure, gut-wrenching heartache is the culprit that steals the air from my lungs. My throat is constricting too tightly, as if it never wants to let go of all the experiences that Britt and I shared. Because if it lessens and I breathe in, all these things I hold sacred will suddenly slip from my grasp.

It's been three weeks, three grueling weeks of replaying all my missed opportunities, since I confessed my feelings to Brittany. Three weeks of cycling through feelings of grief, jealousy, and self-hatred. I can't take much more of this, which is why I'm squirming in anticipation at the Pierce's front door. Fuck, Lopez! Grow a pair and fight for your girl. Because no matter who she's with, Brittany will always be your only one. She will always be your first and only love.

"What do you want, Santana?" I stop fidgeting and snap to her attention. Oh, fuck. She never uses my full name unless she's serious and from her resigned tone I know that this is it. How long have I been here? God, did she know I was here the whole time?

What a loaded question. How can I possibly explain when I don't even know what I'm feeling? She takes my silence as an admission of defeat and her shoulders slump and her eyes become downcast.

In this moment, I knew that I had to put myself on the line. I had to do it one last time, because this is my only chance. No pressure. I shut my eyes, take a deep breath, and hold it. I'm trying to come up with words that can't possibly express what I feel about Britt. I feel this ache in my chest, like it's collapsing on itself and my stomach is suddenly lodged in my throat. Talking seems impossible but because it's her I have to try. I hear her shuffling and my skin buzzes because she's so close I can feel it. Opening my eyes, I see her turning away and my chance is fast fading. Casting my fears aside I try to muster up the words to help her understand.

I already miss our proximity, and in my despair I start by telling her my physical needs, "I want to be pressed against you. I want our foreheads to crinkle when they touch and our noses to squash while we get lost in each other." I move to do just that until our bodies are flushed. The familiarity gives me confidence, so I continue my struggle in a hushed whisper. It comes pouring out. My words are mumbled against her too soft lips; she needs to realize that I need her to feel them.

"I want to feel your warmth spread and blanket my skin, setting my entire being ablaze. I want to breathe your every breath; to taste and know the things you cannot say with words, so the only way you can express them is by breathing it into me. I want you to be my only lifeline, because I don't need air when I can breathe you. I just want you."

I pause to let realization hit her. Those were the same words I used the first time I confessed. Her glassy, steel blue eyes are softening. She is about to speak, but I need to get this all out so she can understand where I'm coming from. Why I've been so afraid. I've pushed and hurt her so much; she needs to know why.

I cut her off and I trudge on, "I don't want your words." God, she looks so hurt. Fuck. "No, fuck. Britt, let me finish." I take a shaky breath, wracking my brain to come up with the words I need her to hear. My eyes drop to that freckle on the corner of her lip- the one I always aim for when I give her fluttering butterfly kisses. I continue, "What I want is your breath, your promises, your whispers, your dreams and visions of our future to smother and engulf me until there is no more you or I. I don't want you to be my world. I don't want to be yours either. I don't want you to be mine or I, yours because I can live without you."

She gasps at this confession and tries to escape but I don't let her. I shift my hands from her hips to cup her face until she meets my eyes again. God, I'm still hurting her.

"I'm still not finished. I can live without you, but why would I ever want to?" She stops fidgeting. Her eyes dart from my lips to my eyes, searching for any sign of hesitance. "Like I said, I want you to be the air I breathe; to be the blood coursing through my veins. I want you to be my biggest fear and my proudest moment. You are" I amend. Her brow dips and furrows, so I explain, "You are the source of all my happiness and insecurities. You are the growing doubt that fuels my worst nightmares but also the immovable shelter standing steadfast against all my fears. So you see? You are far more than my world. You are what makes me who I am. You asked what I want? Well Brittany Pierce, simply put, I want you always and unconditionally. I just want you."


	2. Chapter 2

So this is Brittany's POV. I plan on leaving things where they are but I can be swayed otherwise. I don't know if I did Britt's character justice by making her inner dialogue seem so flighty. I guess I'll play it by ear. Enjoy.

* * *

I can't stop replaying that day, three weeks ago, when you begged and told me, "I just want you." I've been waiting so long to hear you say that, but when you did it didn't have the desired effect. It fell short of all my expectations. I wish hearing you say that was enough. But it isn't; at least it's not anymore. You can't just expect me to take you back, especially when you're not ready to deal with what that entails. I know you're scared and it's a lot to deal with. I know you're not ready yet, which is why I'm not just going to hand you my still mending heart. It used to be that all I ever wanted was for you to want me. But I've become greedy, needy.

I don't know when it happened but I don't just want you. I _need_ you. I need your pinky because it's my only lifeline when I'm feeling lost. I need your embrace as my haven when the world is cruel and decides that I'm too dumb to be hurt by their mockeries and laughter. I need your assurance that I'm the genius unicorn. I need your scent, lemon verbena skin and a hint of pomegranate from your shampoo, to pull me back down when my head floats up to the skies. I need your support when Tubbers relapses and starts chain smoking, again. Mostly, I need your love, because it's like that fluffy fleece throw that I wrap around myself when it's cold and storming outside. It's soft and warm and it surrounds me, and I don't feel as scared when it's draped on me.

So don't you see? "I just want you" isn't good enough. Not this time. What will happen when you stop wanting me? That's the difference between you and me. You only _want_ me, but I _need_ you. Maybe, I'm the one that's not good enough.

It's been three week and I'm still fuming, seething and it's not fair. I'm so mad at you. I want to lash out and show you exactly how you've been treating me. But I can't. I can't because it's you. I can't, because I love you. I've been struggling with myself, because the thought of intentionally hurting you makes me sick. It makes my stomach, or maybe it's my heart, plunge and my pulse race. My throat constricts and my breathing becomes labored. All my anger gets drowned out and replaced by anguish, at the mere thought of giving you a taste of your own bitter medicine. I'd gladly choke down that bitterness than see you shedding salty tears. Why is it ok for you to always hurt me, but I can't even manage to think of hurting you without feeling waves of nausea?

I can't keep doing this. I want to give up on you; no, that's not right. I don't want to give up on you, or on us, but I need to. I used to think that love was enough. I'm not so sure anymore. I need to clear my head. I quickly change and grab my purse.

"Mom, I'm going to the studio! I'll be back before—" she's hovering by the window when cuts me off, "Brittany, honey, Santana's been standing outside for twenty minutes. She's been doing this for weeks! I know you two haven't been as…close lately, but maybe you should talk to her."

I can't deal with this right now. I needed to clear my head first. Suddenly, I don't feel like using the front door. Maybe I can fit through Lord Tubbington's cat flap in the back? Oh, I know! I used to always shimmy down my bedroom window when I want to sneak out. That should work. I try to dart away from the foyer, but my mom is already yanking me and pulling the door open. She shoves me out and I hear the door click shut and lock. Perfect.

I see her looking forlornly at my porch swing, probably lost inside her mind from all the memories we've shared on it. Like the time I forced her to sit on it with me that cool summer night, because I heard there might be a meteor shower, and just had to see it. Or that crisp, October afternoon when we were carving pumpkins, and I cut my pointer finger so she made me sit on the swing while she dressed it then kissed it better. Or maybe that muggy day when we were plopped down on it, not really swinging, and decided to split that popsicle. I leaned over and gave her a quick, chase peck just because. She tasted like fresh rain in the summer or the fourth of July. I smile faintly and lick my lips in remembrance.

No! What am I doing? I want to storm away or yell at her. I want to throw a fit at my mother. I want to disappear and not have to deal with this, but try as I may, I stand frozen. If I can't control my emotions then I need to get this over with as soon as possible. Breathe. Again. Ok I can do this. Resigned, I approach her quietly and let out an exasperated sigh, "What do you want, Santana?"

Her head jerks towards me. I can see her brows are slightly furrowed and her eyes are kind of squinted. She must have been really consumed by her thoughts because those lips, that I've long since memorized, are slightly parted in confused recognition. I continue studying her features, sweeping over each detail, as if seeing her for the very first time. Her slightly scrunched face changes and what once held soft features was now all hard lines and serious. If it had been anyone else, they would have attributed the change to their imagination, but I know Santana.

I know that when her jaw is clenched it means she's grimly determined. The slight raise of her left eyebrow is one of her tells when she's about to do something stupid, risky, or both. Pressed, thinned lips and eyes held shut mean she's weighing her options. Tongue darting to wet her bottom lip indicates she's ready. For what? That I don't know.

I study her face for a few more seconds and notice her eyes are still shut closed. I want to tell her it's ok and take your time, but I'm done waiting. I'm through being patient. I'll be the one walking away, for good this time. I need to put myself first for once. As I'm turning, I hear a broken whisper. Her words sound meek and hesitant when she tells me, "I want to be pressed against you. I want our foreheads to crinkle when they touch and our noses to squash while we get lost in each other." She reaches for me and proceeds to press our bodies together, nudging her forehead to mine while nuzzling our noses. Her tenderness is leaving me breathless.

Lost in her eyes, I feel, more than hear, her telling me more. Murmuring the things she wants to my lips; pouring all the words she's been too scared to utter into me. Every soft brush of her lips to mine sets my nerves alight with sweet agony. I'm so dizzy. I think all the blood in my head is rushing to my heart because it's thump, thump, thumping so fast. Can hearts fly? Mine feels so light I think it could. Fly, I mean. How could I have walked away from her? And now her words are stronger. It sounds less like pleas but more like she's stating facts when she says, "I want you to be my only lifeline, because I don't need air when I can breathe you. I just want you."

Oh. So is that what she means when she said that the first time? She needs me? Are we on the same page? So she loves me the way I love her? I have so many questions. I need to know. San's always been patient when it comes to explaining things to me, so I should just ask her. Ok, I'll just ask—"I don't want your words," she snaps.

What? What does that mean? I'm so confused. I need her to say something. I know I didn't do anything wrong, so why did she snap at me? I'm bursting to ask what's wrong when she blurts, "No, fuck. Britt, let me finish." She inhales deeply, the way I do when nothing seems to make sense and the only thing I can do to keep from falling apart is breathe. She's speaking again, but now it's back to pleading desperation. Her tone is begging me to understand and things start to click when I hear her explain, "What I want is your breath, your promises, your whispers, your dreams and visions of our future to smother and engulf me until there is no more you or I. I don't want you to be my world. I don't to be yours either."

No, no, nonono! She was saying all the right things and now why is she telling me this? I can't breathe. No. No. No. I need to tell her to stop. Make her stop, because she is breaking me. Can't she see that everything we've ever built, our friendship, our trust, our memories are all crumbling because of what she's saying?

She's not stopping. She's taking everything from me with her words. Every new word uttered is another crushing blow, and she keeps going, "I don't want you to be mine or I, yours because I can live without you." No. I can't do this. Why did I think it would be any different? Stupid, stupid! I knew I should have walked away. Let me go. Please, if you love me you'll just let me go, because at this point there won't be anything left of me. It's like your words are so sharp and they're cutting, ripping into my chest. Let me go. Every breath drives them in further. Each one adds to the piercing sting, widening the impossibly large hole of my collapsing heart. Please, just let me go.

Relief washes over me when she loosens her grip on my hips. I need to get away from her. I can't take this anymore. This is it. Good riddance to you, Santana. What did she say?

"-not finished. I can live without you, but why would I ever want to?" Why is she still cupping my jaw? Try as I may, all my energy is spent. I can't struggle anymore. What did she say? I don't care. Just deal the final blow and leave me alone. I look in her eyes. If she's going to strip me of my sunshine, my soul, my reason for being, if she's going to strip me of her love, then she needs to see the damage she's causing. I hold her gaze and with my eyes and I plead. Please. I'm begging you. Let. Me. Go.

She's speaking calmly. This is it. I can hear her words clearly when she says, "I want you to be my biggest fear and my proudest moment. You are. You are the source of all my happiness and insecurities. You are the growing doubt that fuels my worst nightmares but also the immovable shelter standing steadfast against all my fears. So you see? You are far more than my world. You are what makes me who I am. You asked what I want? Well Brittany Pierce, simply put, I want you always and unconditionally. I just want you."

Wait. This isn't what I was expecting. This was supposed to tie loose ends. It's supposed to end with me walking away. Nothing is making sense. This isn't right. I don't know what to say, because this wasn't part of the plan. What am I supposed to do now? There's so much buzzing in my head and before I know what's happening I hear myself sobbing brokenly, "No, I can't. I can't do this."


End file.
